


Permission

by oschun



Series: Wolfy Tales [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Absent John Winchester, Angst, Consent Issues, Established Relationship, Folklore, M/M, Possession, Sam Winchester Has Powers, Sibling Incest, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-10-18 14:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20640758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oschun/pseuds/oschun
Summary: Sam and Dean continue the search for their father. After weeks of traveling through the mountains, they find themselves in a village where people worship the sacred power of the wolf.A third story in the Wolfy Tales series, an AU storyworld built on canon-compliant events, except Sam is born with his powers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of the tags are warnings for where the story is headed. There's non-con in the second chapter.

Sam was sitting on a rock at the edge of the lake, watching the fishermen in their slender canoes throw out their nets. The surface of the water was a glassy reflection of the sky above. The scenic beauty and warmth of the sun on his skin made him breathe out a contented sigh. The long, weary weeks of travelling through the mountains and rough camping in the cold and snow had taken their toll on him. He was tired.

Dean was a little way along the shore, teaching some kids to skim stones on the lake’s surface. Sam watched him, entertained by Dean’s playful tolerance and the children’s clumsy ineptitude, remembering the way Dean had taught him in the same way when he was young, remembering the first time he’d got it right—the quick, light skip of the stone across the water and his sense of accomplishment.

Looking at the bank of pebbles at the water’s edge, he focused his attention on three flat rounded stones and sent them bouncing along the surface of the lake.

“Nice trick.”

Stiffening with surprise, he turned to see Freya standing in the shadows of the trees just behind him.

She was barefoot, wearing a simple linen tunic that showed the tattoos on her arms and legs, her long silvery-blonde hair hanging loose to her waist. Yesterday, when they first arrived in the village and she was introduced to them as the village chieftess or priestess—whatever Freya was—she’d been dressed more formally in a long dress and a cloak edged with fur, her hair up in a complicated arrangement. Later, Dean had made a joke to Sam about whether they should have kneeled in her presence. She had that effect on people. 

She looked younger now, but only a little less intimidating. She was a commanding presence even in bare feet.

“What is?” Sam asked, feigning ignorance and mentally kicking himself for being unguarded when he was normally so careful about keeping his power hidden. He'd just forgotten himself for a moment. 

Freya walked down the shingled beach and sat on the rock next to him, her eyes on the lake. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Sam looked nervously at the strong outline of her profile - the high, prominent cheekbones, straight nose and sharp jawline. When he remained silent, she turned to look at him, her pale blue eyes meeting his. “I know what you are, Sam. You don’t need to hide. We don’t hurt your kind here. There’s no need to be afraid.”

Sam licked his lips, his voice quiet when he asked, “What kind is that?”

Freya smiled and looked out at the water again. “The kind who can impose his will on the physical world and make stones move just because he wants them to.”

Sam schooled his face into an expression of innocent bewilderment—eyes wide and a small quizzical smile—an expression that fooled everyone he’d ever met. It even worked on Dean a lot of the time. “Honestly, Freya, I don’t know what you mean.”

Freya’s lips twisted wryly. “I understand your caution. Really, I do. My great-grandfather was stoned to death and his severed head put on a spike as a warning against practicing witchcraft. That was before, when my family lived in a village on the other side of the mountain. Here, in our community, we don’t murder people for being born with a gift. We celebrate it.”

She picked up a stone and threw it along the surface of the water in a perfect series of long skipping bounces. “I don’t have the gift. My mother had it. My twin brother too.” She looked out at the lake with a pensive expression. “He drowned out there just two days after his twenty-first birthday. Erik was arrogant and thought his gift made him invincible, but nature showed him otherwise.” 

“I’m sorry,” Sam replied, responding to the underlying pain in her tone. The nervous knot in his stomach loosened. He sensed he could trust her.

“I miss him all the time. We were so close. We shared our mother’s womb, after all. But his gift made our bond even stronger. It’s six years this winter since he died, but I still feel like there’s a part of me that’s raw and bleeding and will never heal.”

She looked along the beach to where Dean was splashing a group of shrieking children. “I can tell you feel the same way about your brother, even though you were born years apart. You don’t need the gift to feel how strong the bond is between the two of you.”

“This probably sounds stupid but I feel like my heart would just stop beating if Dean died," Sam said, surprising himself. He didn’t think that was something he’d ever verbalize to anybody else, much less a complete stranger.

Freya placed her hand gently on his arm, her fingers cool against his sun-warmed skin. “It’s not stupid. I thought the same thing about Erik. Unfortunately, it’s more likely that one of you will die in the other’s arms. Then life will have to go on for the person left behind."

"I’m sorry," she added quickly with a grimace, "that’s a terrible thing to say. How did we get onto such a depressing topic of conversation?”

Sam gave a grim laugh and turned her words over in his mind.

“Do you ever think about the origin of your power?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to talk about where his power came from, probably because it always brought up thoughts about the possibility of it being evil. He knew it was inherently dangerous. For years, he and Dean just pretended it wasn’t there. So it lay dormant and buried inside him, until he realized that he just couldn’t hide it anymore. Now that he was exploring the possibilities of what he could do, he felt his power growing stronger all the time. Sometimes he could feel its separateness, a part of him but also not a part of him, something with a will of its own.

“I was born with it. I don’t know why, or where it comes from.”

Freya looked at him closely. “You feel shame. Your gift. It makes you feel ashamed?”

“Sometimes,” Sam admitted.

“My grandparents used to tell me and Erik a story when were little. Do you want to hear it?”

Sam nodded and turned to face her. A breeze was blowing off the water, lifting the ends of her long hair. She crossed her legs, getting comfortable, her voice low as she spoke: 

“In the beginning only the gods and the animals walked the earth. Like the gods, the first animals were immortal and existed only as a single example of their kind. The wolf was a favorite of the gods because of its strong and protective nature. Then the gods created the first human out of clay from the lake’s edge. This first mortal was a woman created with the divine spark of a new life inside her belly. The wolf was jealous because the gods loved this new creation more than they loved the wolf. When it was time for the woman to give birth, she came out of the forest and went down to the shore to be near the water. The wolf was angered by the gift of new life inside the woman and followed her, intending to kill the child as it was born. The wolf waited until the child slid out between her thighs, then leaped out of the shadows and sank its teeth into the child’s neck, mortally wounding it. To save the child, the gods breathed a second life into it, inadvertently giving it god-like power."

"Seeing that the child had survived the fatal bite, the wolf felt remorse for its jealousy and a deep sympathy for the child’s vulnerability. It picked up the child in its jaws and escaped into the forest to bring up as its own. The woman couldn’t follow the wolf because she was still in labor. She was pregnant with twins and the second child was born without power. This is why some people have power and others do not. It’s also why most of humankind fears and despises wolfkind. The woman always hated the wolf for stealing her firstborn.”

Freya laughed suddenly. She picked up another stone and skimmed it along the lake surface. “We used to love listening to the old stories around the fire on a winter’s night when we were children, but as we got older, we’d change the stories and retell them among ourselves. Erik’s favorite was how the first wolf lay with the first woman to get her pregnant. He used to tell us—in great detail—how the wolf mounted the woman, and how pleasurable it was for her to be physically tied to the wolf as he impregnated her. We’d giggle in the dark until the elders told us to shut up and go to sleep. Erik always liked the idea of his gift arising from the mating of a wolf and a woman.”

Sam laughed quietly, remembering the way Dean used to tell him twisted versions of the old forest legends when they were young. Children are subversive by nature. 

Freya's gaze turned intent suddenly, her voice dropping to a low whisper as she said, “When Erik was inside me, that’s what he’d say. He’d say: _Freya, do you like the feeling of a wolf-cock inside you?_”

Sam inhaled a quick, surprised breath and felt his cheeks flame. Freya looked along the beach at Dean, then back at Sam, her gaze focused and intent. “It’s a very particular kind of love, isn’t it, Sam?”

Sam stayed silent, his heart beating too fast.

Freya’s lips twisted and her expression turned rueful. “I’m sorry. Now I’ve embarrassed you. That wasn’t my intention. I just wanted you to know I understand and that you’re not alone. Forgive me, Sam, for being so forward and for speaking so crudely. I’ve been told often enough it’s a flaw in my character.”

“No, that’s alright,” Sam replied hesitantly. “I’m just not used to it.”

“When I was a little girl, my mother would chase me outside with the goats when I talked too much or too crudely—which, according to her, was far too often." She smiled and added, "But it didn’t work as a punishment because goats are good listeners and they're amused by dirty jokes.” 

“Did your family know?” Sam asked tentatively. “About you and Erik?”

“Yes, they knew. They accepted they couldn't keep us apart. We would've run away rather than be separated. We planned to marry. It’s not uncommon among mountain folk, far less between siblings than between cousins, of course, but it happens. ”

She sighed deeply. “Erik was wild. He always had to push everything as far as he could. Loving him wasn't easy.”

“The man with you yesterday, he’s your husband?”

Freya smiled. “Yes, Arne is a good man. A better man than I deserve. He accepts he can never compete with my love for Erik.”

She looked along the beach and smiled. “Your brother looks tired. I’ll take the children back to the lodge. They have chores to do before the evening meal.” She got up and patted the sand off her tunic. “You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you like, Sam. You seem travel-weary. So are your horses. Take some time to rest and recuperate. It would please me to spend more time with you.”

Sam watched her call the children and walk with them up the beach to the timber lodges built along the lake-shore. Dean jogged up and collapsed next to him on the rock. “Kids are exhausting!”

Sam looked at him with amusement. “I’m surprised at how patient you are with them.”

Dean closed his eyes and sighed with contentment before murmuring, “Why are you surprised? I brought you up pretty much by myself, didn’t I?” Sunlight glinted in his hair and stubble. Just one day in the sun and his freckles were showing on the bridge of his nose and along his cheekbones. Sam wanted to touch him. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to openly show his feelings for Dean without constantly worrying that somebody might see. 

Dean brought his hand up to shade his eyes. “So what were you and the Queen Bee talking about so intensely?”

“I don’t know. Nothing really.”

“There’s this thing, Sam. It’s called the art of conversation. It’s what you do when somebody asks you a question. You elaborate, discuss and explain things to them. That way they know what’s going on in your head.”

“Shut up,” Sam said dryly. “You’re one to talk, or _not_ to talk, rather.”

Dean rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “Let's get something straight. I talk all the time. In fact, you're the one who's always telling me to stop talking. You did that yesterday as we rode into the village.”

“That’s because you were being rude and making fun of the painted people, as you called them. Their tattoos are ceremonial and part of their belief system. That old man I was talking to last night at dinner was telling me about it.” He glanced at Dean and noticed how intently he was watching him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s called the art of conversation, Dean.”

Dean snorted, then dropped his gaze to Sam's mouth. “It's nothing. It's stupid. I was just thinking I want to kiss you. See, I communicate.”

“So kiss me then,” Sam replied quietly.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Right, like I’m going to do that out here in the open.”

Sam leaned forward and quickly pressed his lips against Dean’s. Turning his head, he fitted their mouths together and ran his tongue along Dean’s bottom lip. Dean put a hand on his chest and pushed him away. “What’s got into you? You’re the one who’s always saying we can’t get caught doing this.”

“I don’t think people here would care.”

“Yes, they would. Firstly, we have penises. People care about that. Secondly, our penises are related and people _really_ care about that.”

Sam arched an eyebrow. “Our penises are related?”

“Well, so’s the rest of us, but it’s what we do with our related penises that’s the problem.”

Sam ran his hand down Dean’s body to the button on his pants. “I don’t have a problem with your penis.”

Dean grinned and swatted Sam’s hand away. Rolling onto his back, he stretched out on the rock with obvious pleasure and closed his eyes. “It’s good to be out in the sun again.”

Sam lay next to him and looked up at the sky. It was a clear blue vault above him, empty of clouds, flawless and endless. “Freya said we can stay as long as we like. We should take a couple of days.”

“Mmm,” Dean said contentedly.

Sam closed his eyes and murmured, “Don’t fall asleep or you’ll get sunburned.”

Dean made a non-committal sound, then fell silent.

As with everything, the evening meal in the village was a communal affair. The villagers seemed to take turns with the cooking and serving. Different people from the night before laid out the meal of grilled fish, bread, fruit and berries on the long wooden tables in the big timber lodge that functioned as the shared dining hall. Candles in towers of dripping wax cast a warm light and the hubbub of conversation and sound of laughter filled the room.

Dean finished chewing the food in his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of beer. “I’m just saying it’s a little weird the way they all live on top of each other like this.”

“Dean, keep your voice down before you offend somebody,” Sam hissed, then smiled politely when somebody passed him another helping of fish. "There’s nothing weird about it. They’re a community and they’ve lived like this for at least three generations. Why are you so skeptical about everything?”

“I just think people should eat from their own plate. You have your plate and I have mine. If you’re going to eat from my plate, there has to be some kind of a negotiation, an understanding that permission needs to be given.”

“I never eat from your plate. You, on the other hand, are always stealing food from my plate without asking.”

“It’s a metaphor, Sam.”

Sam snorted quietly. “One that doesn’t work very well coming from you, Dean.”

Dean stole the last piece of bread off Sam’s plate, shoved it in his mouth and said, “What’s yours is mine, brother.”

A woman sitting next to Sam broke off another chunk of bread from a basket of loaves and offered it to him, smiling shyly. Sam thanked her and returned her smile before turning back to Dean. He was looking at a young couple at another table whispering quietly to each other. From his amused, speculative expression, Sam knew he was about to say something inappropriate. 

“Do you think they—”

“Don’t say it, Dean.”

Dean gave him a look of fake innocence. “What? I thought you couldn’t read my mind.”

“I know you.”

“I was just going to make the observation that a lot of the kids around here look similar. Maybe they’re into _that_ kind of sharing too.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re so predictable. They’re obviously monogamous - or at least as monogamous as most people are - and they live like this in family groups within the wider community. Anyway, what does it matter? Stop being judgemental.”

Dean dropped his hand under the table and placed it high on Sam’s thigh, rubbing the seam on the inside of his pants with his thumb. “Judgemental? Do you even know me? I’m fine with whatever works for people.”

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. Dean had a crude and dirty sense of humor, but he was also high-minded and idealistic. He had a lot of romantic notions about many things, including sex. Putting his hand over Dean’s, he slid it higher so it was resting on his groin. “Just there, Dean, that works for me.” 

Dean smirked and gave him a little squeeze before putting his hand back on the table. “Something about this place making you so bold, little brother?”

“Maybe I’m just tired of hiding everything,” Sam replied in a low voice, more to himself than to Dean.

A smiling boy appeared next to the table. “Can I take your plates?” he asked. They handed him their empty plates and watched as the younger children started kissing their parents goodnight before being escorted out of the lodge by the older teenagers.

Freya came over and stroked the head of the wolfhound sitting hopefully next to their table waiting for scraps. “Come and sit with me by the fire where it’s more comfortable.”

They got up and followed her to a raised area at the top end of the room where animal skins were strewn across the wooden floorboards and a fire roared in a big stone fireplace. A few people were sitting in small groups, chatting and drinking.

“Did you have enough to eat?” Freya asked as she sat cross-legged on a wolf-pelt and placed a bottle and three small clay cups on the floor in front of her. The wolfhound bounded up and lay next to her, its head resting on her thigh, eyebrows twitching. Freya placed an affectionate hand on its head. The dog yawned contentedly and closed its eyes.

Dean sat down and stretched his feet toward the warmth of the fire. “We haven’t eaten so well in weeks.”

Freya poured the liquid from the bottle into the cups. “It’s a pleasure having you here. Like I said to Sam earlier this afternoon, you’re welcome to stay for as long as you like.” She passed them a cup each. “To new friends.”

Sam sniffed the liquid, raising his eyebrows at the alcoholic fumes and intense smell of herbs coming from it. Dean took a large swallow and blew out a harsh breath. “Wow, that’s strong!”

Freya smiled. “I was going to warn you. It’s very potent.” She threw it back in one shot and shivered, her cheeks turning pink. “But very good. It's made by a woman in the village called Astrid. She's a kind of alchemist and is famous for her ability to capture experiences in a bottle. Once, in the middle of a very dark and cold winter, Arne and I drank some that made us feel like we were teenagers out in the middle of the lake on a summer’s day. We woke up the next day with sunburn. She does a special batch before the first hunt. It gets the blood going very fast, very fierce.” 

“What experience is in this one?” Dean asked.

“It’s always slightly different for people.”

Lifting the cup, Dean raised his eyebrows and gave Sam a challenging grin. Sam shrugged and clinked his cup against Dean's. He threw it back and the alcohol ran down his throat like liquid fire. He coughed and felt his face flush hot.

Dean grimaced. “That kicks like a mule.”

Smiling, Freya refilled their cups and tapped the wolfhound on the nose when he tried to lick one. "Not for you, Odin."

The heat in Sam’s stomach spread lazily through his body until even his toes tingled. The sensation subsided and he found himself wanting more. Dean obviously had the same idea and reached for his cup just as Sam did. They grinned at each other, then drank, the alcohol going down a little easier the second time. Sam felt like he was starting to glow from the inside. It was a deeply pleasurable feeling.

The room was getting really warm and a man with long blond hair stood up and stripped off his shirt. His lean body was heavily tattooed. He had the large design of the wolf covering his upper arm and shoulder—as all the villagers did—and a hawk in flight across his chest. The old man the night before had told Sam that when a person came of age in the village they had their spirit animal tattooed on their chest.

Sam didn't realise he was staring until he noticed the man's eyes on him. He smirked at Sam, then trailed his hand down his bare chest, a look of invitation in his expression. Surprised, Sam flushed, then felt Dean's fingers curl possessively around the back of his neck.

Noticing the gesture, the blond man gave Dean a smiling nod - message received - and turned back to his companions, shrugging when they teased him. 

Dean didn't take his hand away and it felt hot and heavy on the back of Sam's neck. He tentatively reached out and rested his own hand on Dean's thigh, expecting to be pushed away. Instead, Dean slowly caressed the sensitive skin behind his ear with his thumb. Sam shivered and closed his eyes, feeling light-headed at the strangeness of being touched like this when they were surrounded by people. This was a line they were very careful never to cross.

Dean leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “Do you want to go outside?”

Sam’s heart started beating faster. “Yeah, I do,” he whispered back.

Freya gave them a knowing smile when they stood up. "We’re going to get a breath of fresh air,” Sam said, feeling a blush heating his cheeks.

“You should have a swim in the lake. It's still warm enough this time of year and there's a full moon. There’s nothing as beautiful as the lake in the moonlight.”

Arne came over and stretched out next to Freya, his head on her thigh and arm over the wolfhound, looking up at them with friendly amusement. “Astrid’s potions heighten sensory experience and lower inhibitions, so have fun, but be careful not to swim out too far if you’re not strong swimmers. It's a lot colder the deeper you go.”

They nodded at the advice, then went outside, taking a moment to stand on the wooden deck at the front of the lodge and look up at the full moon. It seemed so close. The night air was warm and still and there wasn't a breath of wind. Dean turned Sam to face him and leaned forward, his hands gripping the wooden railing behind him, his arms bracketing Sam's body. “I don't think they believed we were coming out here for a swim."

Sam grinned. "No, I don't think they did."

Dean gave him a heated look, his voice going rough when he said, "I want to know what it feels like to be inside you.”

Sam took a deep breath, his heart racing. “Yeah, I want that too.”

Dean nodded, his eyes bright in the moonlight. “Give me a minute. I’ll get a blanket.”

As he waited, Sam looked up at the vast, star-studded sky, identifying constellations. Absorbed in star gazing, he didn't hear Dean come up behind him, and startled when he wrapped his arms around his waist. ”Sorry,” Dean murmured against his ear. “What were you thinking about?”

Sam lay his head back on Dean’s shoulder. “Just looking at the stars. The wolf is really bright tonight.” 

Dean edged his hips closer, pressing his groin against Sam’s ass. Sam arched his back and pressed closer, feeling Dean's body heat soak through his shirt. “I want you. I want to feel you inside me, want you to come in me.”

Dean groaned softly and bit the side of his neck. “Let’s go for that swim first. I’ve been hot and sweaty all day.” He held Sam's hand as they walked down to the lake, something he hadn’t done since they were kids. It felt strange—warm, comforting and affectionate—but strange nevertheless.

The moon was enormous, bone-white and hanging low in the sky, looking at its own watery reflection in the lake. They stripped off their clothes on the shore and waded out into the deeper water. Sam shivered as his over-heated skin cooled. Dean swam over to him and they stared silently at each other, kicking their feet gently to stay afloat.

Coming closer, Dean wrapped one arm around Sam’s back, pulled him forward and kissed him, softly at first, then more roughly, his tongue moving in and out of his mouth. Sam got hard instantly and he moaned into Dean's mouth when their erections touched. Dean lowered his hand and palmed his ass, pulling him close. His finger slipped between Sam’s cheeks and he pressed hesitantly against his hole. Sam arched his back and wrapped his legs around Dean's waist, trying to get him to press deeper. Dean moved back, opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then just stared slack-jawed at Sam.

“What?” Sam asked quickly.

“Your, uh, your eyes…”

“What about them?”

“Can’t you feel it? They’re glowing yellow, like when you’re using your power.”

“Oh.” Sam pulled back. “Sorry. I didn’t know.” He looked away, trying to hide his face, feeling embarrassed.

Dean caught his chin and held Sam’s jaw firmly. “Hey, look at me. It’s okay.”

“Are you—are you sure? It doesn’t freak you out?”

“No, Sam. You’re beautiful.” As Dean leaned forward, Sam felt a flutter near his ankle, just a small vibration in the water. He kicked his foot, thinking it was a reed or maybe a fish moving past. Dean kissed him gently. “I guess it’s just an effect of that crazy mountain brew. I’m feeling so weird, everything’s intense and surreal.”

“Me too. Like everything’s turned up. Sound, light, color. My skin feels so sen—”

The flutter near his ankle was stronger now. There was definitely something down there in the water beneath him, something moving, something big. He could sense it and felt a sudden twinge of fear. “Dean, let’s get--"

Something closed around his ankle and Sam realized with horror that it was a hand. Those were fingers gripping his ankle. Before he could shout a warning to Dean, he was yanked under hard and fast and then pulled deeper and deeper. He kicked as hard as he could, trying to dislodge the hold on his ankle, flailing wildly, frantic to get back up to the surface, his lungs starting to burn. But nothing he did had any effect on the pulling weight dragging him lower.

Desperate for breath, his mouth opened and he breathed in a lungful of water. He started to lose consciousness, colored sparks of light appearing in his field of vision.

The hand on his ankle suddenly let go and a pair of strong arms wrapped around him and then there was a mouth on his, blowing air into his lungs, or not air, something else, something hot and fiery that burned down his throat and into his body. He tried to resist but the pressure was relentless and eventually he just gave up as he filled with fire. He heard a voice and it was coming from the alien burning thing invading his body. Something sparked in his head and he had a horrifying vision of his brain setting alight.

“It’s alright, Sam,” the voice said. “Just let me in.”

Sam’s arms and legs started moving on their own and he was swimming back up to the surface. But it wasn’t him telling his body what to do. Whatever was inside him had control.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The consent issues come up in this chapter.

Dean looked around wildly. There was no sign of Sam anywhere. Nothing in every direction but gently rippling water. It was quiet, just the steady lapping of the waves at the shoreline, the background insect-sound of the forest, the low people-thrum of the village in the distance, the occasional hoot of an owl.

“Sam! Where are you?” he shouted into the stillness. There was no answer but the echo of his own voice.

He tried to process what just happened but couldn’t wrap his mind around the incomprehensibility of it. One minute he was leaning in to kiss Sam, closing his eyes, anticipating the touch of Sam’s lips, and the next Sam was wrenched violently out of his arms as if something had gripped hold of him and dragged him beneath the surface of the water.

Trying to stay calm and think rationally, he carefully scanned the surface of the lake and shoreline for any signs of movement before taking a deep breath and diving down, feeling with his hands through the darkness. He stayed under until his lungs burned and he had to kick back up to the surface, desperate for air. Lifting his head above the water, he took a deep breath and prepared to dive under again when he noticed something in the water a few yards to the left.

A rush of sweet, blessed relief flooded through him. It was Sam, turned away from him, facing the far shore.

“Sam!”

Sam turned around and the sight of his burning yellow eyes made Dean’s breath catch in his throat. They were brighter than before, lit up like glowing coals across the short stretch of dark water between them. Despite what he’d said earlier about Sam looking beautiful, Dean felt a shiver of fear at the raw strangeness of his power.

He swam over and gripped Sam’s shoulder. “What the hell just happened?”

Sam’s hair was plastered against his scalp and he was breathing quickly, but he seemed fine. His face suddenly split into a wide grin. “I got you good, right?”

Dean’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “What?”

“It was a joke, Dean.”

“A joke? Are you kidding me? I was terrified.”

Sam laughed again. “C’mon, Dean, where’s your sense of humor?”

“Have you actually lost your mind? We don’t do shit like that to each other, not with everything we’ve seen and been through. Scaring me half to death isn’t even in the vicinity of being funny.”

Sam’s expression softened into apology, but there was something wrong about it, an artificiality to his expression that didn’t sit right on his face.

“I was just joking around. I didn’t mean to scare you. I—” he hesitated and looked as if he were searching for the right words. “I’m sorry, okay? I love you,” he said cajolingly, his dimples deepening.

Dean recognized the smile as patent Sam-manipulation. Since he was little, Sam knew how to win people over with that disarming smile. And he used it on Dean all the time. But never in moments like this. If he genuinely messed up, he was always sincere and forthright. It just wasn’t in Sam's nature to manipulate Dean emotionally when it really mattered. 

Irritation drowned out Dean’s earlier feelings of fear. He grunted in annoyance, didn’t answer, just turned away and swam back to the shore. He was heading back up the beach to where they’d left their clothes, when Sam came up behind him, took hold of his arm and pulled him around to face him. “Okay, you’re right, that was a stupid thing to do and I’m really sorry. I’m drunk, I guess. And I’m an idiot, obviously.”

Dean's lips tightened in a reluctant half-smile. “You’re definitely an idiot,” he said gruffly.

Sam returned the smile and reached out to cradle Dean's head in his hands, looking at him intently with those golden eyes. “Wow, you really are beautiful,” he said in a quiet, awed voice. He leaned forward and kissed him, angling Dean's face so he could fit their mouths tightly together. “Taste good,” he said, his voice going rough as he pulled Dean up against him. “Feel good, too,” he said when their naked bodies touched. He kissed Dean’s neck and moved up to bite him lightly on the ear. “He loves you so much.”

Dean pulled back and frowned. “What?”

“I said I love you so much.”

“That's weird, for a second I thought you said—”

Sam abruptly took his hand and pulled him over to the rock where their clothes lay together with the blanket Dean had brought with them. He scooped everything under his arm. “C’mon, let’s get horizontal. That’s why we came out here, right?” He started tugging Dean toward the line of trees on the edge of the beach. “Let me make it up to you.”

Dean let himself be led toward the woods at the edge of the lake, his feelings of irritation disappearing. He ran his eyes over Sam’s naked body, so lean and pale in the moonlight. He shivered, partly because of the breeze on his naked skin, partly in anticipation.

Sam seemed to know exactly where he was going and led him along a path through the trees to a small moonlit clearing. Spreading the blanket on the ground, he sat down with his long legs crossed in front of him and patted the blanket invitingly, a funny little smirk on his face.

Dean grinned and stretched out next to him.

Leaning over, Sam kissed him, wet and deep, tongue in his mouth. He rolled on top of Dean and settled between his thighs, sucking at the pulse jumping in his neck, nipping at it with his teeth as his hips started moving, little thrusts that got them both hard instantly and sent pleasure rolling through Dean’s body in counterpoint to the sharp pain of Sam’s teeth at his neck.

“Fuck,” he groaned and felt the way Sam grinned against his skin.

Sam soothed the bitemarks with his tongue before sitting up and kneeling between Dean’s legs. He placed his hands on Dean’s knees and pushed them wide, his gaze fixed on his groin. It was uncomfortable. The muscles on the inside of Dean’s thighs strained and he felt a twinge of embarrassment at being looked at so closely, so intimately. But it was still turning him on. He felt his balls pull up and harden.

The light glowing in Sam’s eyes flared and he licked his lips. “Your body’s so responsive. I want to bury myself inside you.”

Dean's dick twitched. Sam saying things like that him was deeply arousing, but that hadn’t been the deal. “I thought—”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“I thought you wanted—”

Sam wasn’t listening. His attention was riveted between Dean's legs. He ran a finger down Dean's dick, an expression of fascination and curiosity on his face. He squeezed Dean’s balls lightly, feeling the weight of them, before moving lower and pressing his fingers against Dean’s hole. Dean forgot what he was going to say and arched up into Sam’s touch, his body responding automatically.

Sam leaned forward and pressed his fingers against Dean’s lips. “Open your mouth.” Dean did as he was told and Sam’s breathing got heavier as Dean sucked and licked his fingers, getting them wet. Sam slid them out slowly and rubbed Dean’s bottom lip. “So willing.” Sitting back on his haunches, he pushed Dean’s knees up to his chest, tilting his pelvis, then circled Dean’s hole with one wet finger before pushing two fingers steadily into his body.

It was too much, too fast. Dean sucked in a sharp breath at the intrusion. “Slow down, Sam.”

Sam looked up at him. “Don’t you want this?”

“That’s not what I said. Just slow down.”

Sam eased his fingers out and stroked the back of Dean's thigh apologetically. “Sorry, I’m really worked up. I'm sorry.”

Dean looked at him closely. He was vibrating with pent-up energy, his body language tense and coiled. “What's going on with you? Are you feeling okay?”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I’m fine, just really turned on, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. It’s okay.”

“If you don’t want to," Sam said, taking his erection in his hand, stroking a little, "can I jerk off? I won’t come on you, I promise. I just want to look at you.”

Dean snorted a surprised little laugh and sat up. “If that’s what you want to do, then okay. But that’s not what I want.”

“Then tell me what you want.” Sam's expression was serious, his forehead furrowed. 

“You’re obviously not ready for what we talked about, and that’s okay. It is. Let’s just go slower, okay? The oil’s in the pocket of my shirt. Open me up first and let me get used to it.” 

A cloud covered the moon and Sam’s face was lost in shadow, just his eyes glowing with yellow fire. For a moment he looked like a complete stranger. “Okay, I can do that.” He leaned over and rummaged through Dean’s pockets before he found the bottle of oil, uncorked it and dribbled some on his fingers. 

Dean lifted his knees and groaned when Sam gently pushed one finger inside him. “That okay?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.”

“Ready for another?” 

Dean nodded and sucked in a breath when Sam pushed two long fingers deep inside him, slowly back out and then in again, deeper, a firm, stroking rhythm that made his body clench and his breath catch. Sam suddenly leaned forward and sucked Dean’s dick into his mouth, right down to the root, mouth wide and hot and wet. He pulled slowly up the length and sucked the head, then slid his lips down again and swallowed hard.

“Jesus, Sam!”

It was so good, the deep thrusting fingers inside him and hot sucking pressure on his dick, the lack of hesitation, Sam’s mouth and fingers bold and firm, working his body with knowing confidence. “Need to get you drunk more often,” he mumbled, the words slurred as a hot haze of pleasure clouded his thoughts. He was getting close, his body tensing, balls drawing up, his mouth open and lips dry. He fumbled a hand through Sam’s hair. “Stop, I’m going to come.” Sam ignored him and sucked harder, twisting his fingers inside Dean’s body.

Crying out, Dean arched his back, his fingers gripping tight in Sam’s hair as he came, feeling Sam’s throat work as he swallowed. He felt like he orgasmed for the longest time, a mindless wave that eventually waned into smaller tremors and after-shocks as Sam continued sucking him gently, a firm hand on his balls, until Dean felt completely wrung-out.

Sam lifted his head and licked his lips. They were red and swollen, a smear of come at one corner. Grinning, he said, “Man, you are so hot when you come, so wild and uninhibited. I’m pretty sure the whole village heard you shout like that.” His smile faded as his eyes travelled over Dean’s spent body, expression turning hot and intent. He looked back up and met Dean’s eyes. “Turn over.”

Dean drew a deep breath and tried to roll over, but his body felt too sluggish, muscles soft and co-ordination gone to hell. He was surprised when Sam gripped his hips and man-handled him into position with his ass in the air and his head pushed forward, his cheek pressed into the cold earth where the blanket had got rucked up.

Sam's voice was low and hoarse when he said, “Can I fuck you?”

Dean got his arms more comfortably under him, rested his head on them, then turned his head to the side and said over his shoulder. “Yeah.”

There was a dribble of oil and then Dean felt the insistent pressure of Sam at his entrance before he breached him in one smooth push that released a deep breath from Dean’s chest. Sam pulled back until he was just inside him. “You feel so good.” Pushing back in again, he gripped Dean’s hips, fingers clenched so hard around Dean’s hipbones he knew they’d leave bruises.

Dean leaned heavily on his elbows as Sam started thrusting into him, trying to counterbalance the rough force shoving him forward, rougher than Sam had ever been with him before. “Sam—” he started saying, wanting to tell him to slow down, but the words got lost when Sam adjusted his angle and hit his prostate. Impossibly, Dean felt his dick hardening, but it was hurting as much as it felt good. He felt like he was wandering out into a no-man’s land between pleasure and pain, the muscles in his arms and legs cramping, tiny sparks lighting up in the field of his vision. 

Sam’s rhythm became jerky, his voice harsh and ragged when he said, “Dean, I’m going to come.”

Dean’s orgasm felt like another impossibility, his dick spasming, dry and painful as he felt Sam thicken and throb inside him and heard Sam’s long, shuddering groan.

He grimaced when Sam pulled out. His arms gave out and he collapsed on his front, taking in deep, shuddering breaths. He was just getting his breathing back under control when he felt Sam’s hot hand on his shoulder. His voice was quiet and cautious when he asked, “Dean? Did I hurt you? Was I too rough?”

Dean didn’t know how to answer that question. The obvious, honest answer was yes, Sam had been too rough, too focused on his own pleasure, but at the same time Dean felt exhausted and satisfied, the dull ache in his body perversely pleasurable, like the way he felt after a hard, physical hunt. He turned over onto his back. “I’m alright.”

Sam placed his hand on Dean’s chest. “I’m sorry, I just got lost there for a minute.”

“It’s okay, Sam.” And it was - mostly - even if he did feel a little dazed at the way Sam had used his body so roughly. It was so unlike him. 

Stretching out casually on his back next to him, Sam looked up at the stars. “The lupus constellation is so clear tonight.” He pointed it out. “Can you see it?”

Dean glanced at him sideways. It was like Sam had forgotten he’d said something really similar only a little while earlier.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I never tire of that sky on a clear night. Do you want to sleep out here? It’s warm enough.”

Dean watched Sam in profile, relieved to see that the light in his eyes had dimmed to a pale golden glow. "Yeah okay," he agreed, a strange feeling swimming around in his gut. Normally he felt so close to Sam after sex, but right now, it was like there was this huge distance between them, something Sam seemed oblivious to—Sam, who was normally so sharp and sensitive.

Maybe it was just the alcohol, or maybe the full moon was having an effect on Sam’s power.

They got dressed in silence and lay back down on the blanket. It was big enough to wrap over themselves if they lay close together. Sam slung his arm and leg over Dean’s body and lay his head on Dean’s chest. It felt good. Familiar. It only took a few minutes for Sam's breathing to slow down as he fell asleep.

Dean lay there for a long time, listening to him breathe, feeling strangely alone, despite their physical closeness.

Sam dreamed he was walking through the woods at night. Not the woods at home, somewhere unknown to him. He was surrounded by tall, straight, pale-barked trees, and the ground beneath his bare feet was soft and mossy. The moon was poking long ghostly fingers through the branches. 

He walked on until he came into a clearing where he saw two men lying together under a blanket with their arms around each other. Stepping closer, he was surprised when he recognized Dean. The other man was unfamiliar. He had long blond hair and a chiseled, handsome face, marred by a thin scar running down one cheek to the edge of his mouth.

His eyes were very blue when he opened them. Giving Sam a wary look, he untangled himself from Dean’s embrace and stood up to face Sam.

As Sam opened his mouth to speak, his body was convulsed by an uncontrollable fit of coughing. Leaning forward, he gripped his knees as a feeling of intense pressure built up in his chest. Finally, it was released and he spat out a choking gush of lake water. A cascade of broken images flashed through his mind. He was drowning, swallowing water, breathing in fire. He looked up and then he understood: this was Freya’s brother, Erik.

His gaze was drawn to Dean and he was assaulted with sensations - the driving, red-hot feeling of being inside him, the lust, the lack of control. There were dark shadows under Dean's closed eyes and red bite marks on his neck. The sight of those marks on Dean's skin filled him with sudden, uncontrollable rage. Reaching out, he grabbed Erik by the throat and dug his fingers in deep. “What did you do to my brother?”

Erik's face turned a deep, mottled red as he tried to wrench Sam's fingers loose. Sam punched him once, really hard, feeling bone and cartilage crunch under his knuckles. He loosened his hold and Erik fell back, blood streaming from his nose as he tried to draw in deep, ragged breaths of air. Holding up his hands defensively, he said, “Sam, just hold on!”

“What did you do to my brother?” Sam repeated icily, clenching his fist.

Erik wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his cheek. “Alright, your anger is justified and I deserved that punch. But in my defense, Sam, I was wasted on Astrid’s liquor because you were wasted on it and that kind of magic is hard to resist. Plus, you were so turned on and loved-up that I was just drowning in it. I haven’t felt anything for so long and -.”

Sam stepped forward menacingly. “You had sex with my brother.”

Erik took a step backwards. “Oh, I think technically we both did that. That was not all me. You were definitely there too.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Sam said between gritted teeth.

Erik laughed dryly. “Too late for that, Sammy.”

“My name is Sam.”

“Okay, I get it. He’s the only one who gets to call you that.”

Sam stepped forward again and and Erik raised his hands, his voice quiet and careful when he said, “Okay, so I overstepped a line.”

“A line? You have no fucking idea. Seriously, you’re sorry? You can prove how damn sorry you are by leaving right now and going back to where you came from.”

Erik sighed, then looked up wistfully at the starry sky. He took in a deep breath and savored the crisp night air. Looking back at Sam, he said, "Do you know what it’s like being locked away in darkness, to always be drowning, to not know when, or if, it will ever end? Can you even conceive what that’s like?”

Sam clenched his fist, wanting desperately to punch him again. “You can burn in hell for all I care, Erik. You had no right to do that to us.”

Erik’s expression hardened and his mouth twisted to the left where the scar disfigured his handsome face. He looked over at Dean, running his eyes over the shape of his body under the blanket. “I understand why you want to keep him to yourself. It felt good being buried so deep in all that compliance and love. He’d do anything for you.” He gave Sam a hard look. “Admit it, it felt good being in control like that and hurting him a little, testing how far he'll go to give you what you want.” 

Erik’s eyes flew to the tree behind Sam when it suddenly burst into flames. He laughed and looked impressed. “Damn, brother, your gift is something else. Not even my grandmother could control the dream space like this, and she was really powerful.”

Sam wiped away the trickle of blood he felt leaking from his nose. “Don't call me that. We don’t share any kind of bond. And if you talk about Dean like that again, you're going to regret it. Your body might be gone but your spirit’s still here and you can still feel pain.”

Erik sighed. “Okay, you’re right. Look, I am actually genuinely sorry.” He looked at Sam intently, blue eyes honest and open. “It was invasive and voyeuristic. I always had issues with boundaries, always wanted to see what would happen if I stepped over the line. But even I can see it was a shitty thing to do to somebody. If the tables were turned and that was you fucking Freya in my body, I'd...” He smirked before continuing, “Actually, I’d probably find it really arousing.”

Sobering at the expression on Sam’s face, he continued, “But you’re not me. I understand that. Man, you’re very possessive. You know you don’t own him, right? How the two of you have enough space between you to even breathe is amazing."

Erik rubbed his jaw carefully where Sam's fist had caught him, then went over and sat on the trunk of a cut-down tree. "Freya and me were like that too when we were young. My grandmother told me once that we were like the legs of a stool—too dependent on each other for our sense of self, for stability, too tightly bound together. You have to be a whole person without him, Sam. He’s not like you and he’ll never know what it’s like to have this power burning inside you. None of them do. No matter how hard they try.” 

Sam shook his head, amazed at the way Erik thought this was an opportunity to advise him on how to live his life. He was about to tell him to mind his own damn business when he heard twigs breaking in the undergrowth behind him. He cocked his head and heard the familiar pad of heavy paws on the forest floor coming toward them. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, steeled himself and waited, eyes lowered, listening, not turning around.

“Good god, what is that?” Erik asked, standing up quickly, his eyes widening in astonishment.

“Don’t look at it.”

Erik continued staring over Sam’s shoulder. “Jesus, it’s so big.”

“Don’t look at it,” Sam repeated when he felt hot, panting breath on the back of his neck. “The only power it has here is what you give it.”

Erik’s eyes switched to Sam’s face and he swallowed hard. “What is it?” he asked quietly.

“A demon.”

“What’s it doing here?”

Sam didn’t answer and Erik’s expression turned intent, then sympathetic. “It follows you, in your dreams?”

Sam nodded.

Erik concentrated his attention on Sam’s face. “That’s a heavy burden to carry around with you, brother. I used to dream about wolves dragging me out of my bed in the middle of the night. Terrifyingly vivid dreams.” His eyes flicked over Sam’s shoulder and a low growl sounded in Sam’s ear. “But that thing is an abomination.”

“If you look at it again, Erik, we’re going to have a problem.”

Erik moved so he could talk to Sam without looking at the apparition behind him. “You’ve had to fight it?”

“Before I realized that acknowledging its existence is what gives it power. It doesn’t exist because I decide that. I control what happens here in the dreamworld, not it.”

Sam turned away from Erik and blocked out the sound of panting breath behind him. He sat down cross-legged and watched Dean sleeping. So close and so far away. He put his hand out and traced the heat signature coming from Dean’s body. Dean stirred and murmured under his breath, his eyes moving quickly under his lids. Sam wondered what he was seeing in his dreams.

Erik sat next to him. “I am sorry, Sam.”

They heard the demon disappear back into the forest behind them.

“Then get out of my body, Erik.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure I can. It was your power that called to me. It felt like something fused and locked into place out there in the lake.”

Sam turned to him. “Why are you even here still? You should have moved on.”

Erik looked in the direction of the village. “I’m tethered.”

“What does that mean?”

“Freya.”

Sam sighed and nodded. It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand what that meant. He looked around, aware of a rosy light filling the clearing. “It’s almost dawn.”

Dean stirred, and Sam looked at his own body lying next to Dean. It was just an empty husk, a vacancy, a Sam-shape of flesh and bones. He watched Dean wrap a protective arm around the Sam body and felt an ache in his chest. He turned to look at Erik. “Don’t get comfortable, Erik. You’re not going to be staying for long.”

Erik smiled. “I’ll be expecting you, brother. See you on the other side.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean could feel Sam’s gaze on him when he woke up.

He opened his eyes and for a fraction of a second there was the strangest expression on Sam’s face. A distant, unemotional, assessing look, like he didn’t even know who Dean was. As soon as he realized Dean was awake, it disappeared and was quickly replaced by a too-bright grin. “Hey. Sleep alright?”

Dean stretched carefully, his body aching all over. “Yeah, guess so. You?”

Sam’s eyes dropped between Dean's legs where his morning erection was outlined against the fabric of his pants. “Yeah,” he said gruffly and got to his feet, keeping his face averted.

Dean adjusted himself, then reached up and took Sam's wrist in a loose grip. “You okay? You’ve been acting a little weird.”

Sam looked down at him with a wide smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

Dean could tell there was definitely something wrong with him, and he only ever got silent and distant like this when it was something big. Sam was emotionally complicated. It was true that he liked to talk things out, didn’t believe in letting negative feelings fester, was sensitive and deeply self-aware, had a kind of emotional intelligence that Dean sometimes felt was lacking in himself. But with the really big stuff he got very quiet and introspective, wouldn’t talk about it until he’d processed it to death on his own, until he’d looked at the issue from every single angle and mulled over all the possible ways of dealing with it. There was something bothering him, and whatever the issue was, it had been there, bubbling below the surface, from the moment they arrived in the village.

At first, Dean suspected it was the way the villagers worshipped the animal power of the wolf. He knew Sam felt a deep affinity for wolves and believed his gift was somehow connected to them, but he also felt an aversion for what they represented. He thought there was something wolfish in his own nature, something wild and predatory that he had to work hard at controlling. And sometimes Dean felt it too, a harder, darker part of Sam lurking beneath the surface of his personality.

But Sam was good. He was kind and gentle. Dean had no doubt about the absolute truth of that fact. He had a deep sense of integrity and moral uprightness that was actually annoying at times, especially when Dean thought pragmatism really ought to trump rigid morality.

“I know something’s bothering you, Sam. What were you talking to Freya about yesterday? Did she say something to you?”

Sam frowned, his expression faraway, as if he were trying to recall a distant memory. Eventually, he sat down cross-legged in front of Dean. “She used to fuck her brother. He’s dead now. I guess she felt a connection with me because I fuck my brother.”

Dean blinked in surprise at Sam’s harsh tone. “Okay, uh—”

“He had the gift too.”

“Okay—”

Sam interrupted him again. “Do you think you let me fuck you because you actually want me? Or is it because I desire you and have the power to make you want me?”

Taken aback, Dean blinked again. “What?”

Sam leaned forward, his eyes hard and intent. “I mean how would you even know? That’s the thing, right? Maybe you were born normal with normal appetites and desires, and I’ve psychically manipulated you into wanting it.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “Hell, I might not even be doing it consciously. Maybe all these perverted desires I have inside me just leaked into you through my power.”

Dean reached out and grabbed his shoulders. “Where’s this coming from? It’s bullshit and you know that.”

“Do I?” Sam asked quietly, his eyes reddening, like he was going to cry. “Or maybe I’m just trying to keep you with me because I’m scared you’ll leave me and I think the only way I can bind you to me is through sex, because loving me isn’t enough, because me being your brother _isn’t enough_.”

Dean could feel that his mouth was hanging open and he was digging his fingers into Sam’s shoulders. He took a breath and loosened his grip. “You don’t think I’ve worried about that too, that I haven’t obsessed over the idea I was the one who made you want me? I worried about it all the damn time when you were younger. I’m your big brother. I have a responsibility to protect you. But neither of us _did _this to each other. That’s not how it is between us. We chose this freely, both of us, with our eyes wide open.”

“I’m scared that one day you’re going to look at me with hatred or with fear. We’re not the same. You don’t know what it’s like to live with this power burning inside you all the time.” Sam's expression hardened and a muscle in his jaw jerked convulsively. “I have the ability to do terrible things. I could tear the world apart.” He barked a vicious, sardonic laugh and looked away. “Jesus, we’re so similar.”

“Who? You and me? You just said we're not—”

“No, not us. Me and Freya’s brother. I could see yesterday what loving him did to her. She’s better off without him. Maybe people like us just shouldn’t fall in love.”

Dean felt like he was starting to understand where all this was coming from. It was some kind of emotional transference, which was typical of Sam. Whatever Freya had said to him yesterday had made him transpose her issues with her brother onto their relationship. Sam was like that - he was overly sensitive to other people's issues and carried guilt when he didn't need to.

Dean pulled him forward so their foreheads were touching. “Stop it, okay? Just stop it. This is not like you. It’s self-indulgent bullshit. I’m not going anywhere because I’m right where I want to be. And I will never look at you with hatred or fear. You are the toughest person I know. You won’t give in to the temptations of your power because that’s not who you are. Look at me,” he instructed, one finger under Sam’s chin, tilting his head up until Sam met his gaze. “You are not him.”

Sam pulled away and snorted a bitter, angry laugh.

Dean considered Sam’s face. "How did Erik die?”

“Why do you care?”

“Humor me. Did Freya tell you how he died?”

Sam looked out toward the lake. “He drowned in his own arrogance and ego.”

“Can you be a little less metaphorical,” Dean said dryly.

Sam rubbed his eyes. They were bloodshot and the color of his irises were faded, as if all that fire in them last night had burned away the natural hue. He sighed and said, “He was out there on the lake on his own. He’d been drinking and was feeling wild and powerful. Water was always an easy medium for his power. He was walking on the surface of the lake because that was something he could do, a neat little trick he’d learned when he was just a snot-nosed kid. A storm came up out of nowhere and it was raining heavily. He tried to control the storm, overextended himself and exhausted his power. There was a really strong wind stirring up the lake and the waves were getting bigger and bigger. There was a lot of lightning. He just got so tired. He didn’t make it back to shore.”

“Freya told you that?”

Sam nodded absently. “His body washed up on the beach the next day. Freya found him. She actually laughed aloud when she first saw him because he was lying on his back on a rock with one arm casually tucked behind his head and his feet dangling in the water like he was just sunbathing, a pose she’d seen him in a thousand times. She thought it was typical of him to be found like that. She knew he was dead, of course. She sensed him dying when it happened. He was breathing in all that water, not struggling anymore, and he felt her shock and pain and her very deep anger at him. He died knowing she hated him a little.”

Sam paused and took in a small shuddering breath. “They burned him on a pyre on the beach in the traditional way. She didn’t stop crying for three days. She got really sick. They thought she might die. But she’s so strong.”

Sam looked at Dean and his expression was filled with such terrible sadness that Dean wondered at it. Sam was deeply empathetic but he looked genuinely heartbroken.

“You need to know something, Dean. She keeps some of his hair in a locket around her neck. His body was burned but he’s tethered here because a part of him is stuck here. He can’t be free because she won’t let him go.” 

“You can sense that?”

Sam sighed and nodded, something weirdly evasive about the gesture, like Dean's questions were irrelevant and unconnected to what they were talking about. Dean wasn't even sure what they _were_ talking about. Was Sam suddenly obsessing about one of them dying? Was that why he'd been so rough last night? Was it some kind of possessive desperation to hold on to him. 

"Can we promise not to keep anything of each other like that. If it’s our time to go, we should just go.”

“Sure, Dean, let’s promise each other that,” Sam replied wryly.

“I can’t see you carrying my hair around with you as a keepsake.”

“I don’t need to.”

Dean decided he couldn’t deal with any more of this. He was feeling emotionally wrung out. He leaned forward and kissed Sam, holding the back of his head in a firm grip, just wanting to feel connected with him again. At first, Sam was wooden and unresponsive in his arms, then his mouth softened and he kissed back, his lips warm, then his tongue hot in Dean’s mouth and his hands coming up to fiercely cradle Dean's face.

Dean started to get hard and tried to push him back on the blanket, but he resisted and twisted away. “Don’t, Dean. Please don’t.”

Surprised and angered by his rejection when he really needed the reassurance of physical contact, Dean ground out, “Why the hell not? What’s going on with you? Last night it felt like you wanted to fuck me into oblivion, then you lay all this stuff on me, and now you won’t let me touch you. I don’t get it. And don’t shut me out because I really can’t deal with that right now.” Despite his own irritation, he felt some guilt at the sight of Sam’s hurt, conflicted expression.

“Dean, I’m sorry about last night. And I’m sorry about what I just said. You’re right. This is real. What we have - Sam and Dean - it’s real.”

Dean sighed and leaned forward to nuzzle his neck, murmuring against his skin, “Of course it's real. It’s me and you, always has been. Everything else is just background.” He stroked Sam’s leg and sucked the tiny beating pulse at the base of his throat.

Sam put a hand on his chest and pushed him away gently, his expression apologetic. “Let’s go back to the village, okay? I’m hungry and I need to wash up. I feel like I haven’t had hot food inside me - well, actually, it feels like forever.”

“Okay,” Dean said and got to his feet. He was hungry himself and felt a sudden need to get out of the claustrophobia of the woods and into the open. He gave Sam a hand up and threw the blanket over his shoulder.

They walked back along the shore toward the village in silence. The sun was peeking over the horizon and the lake was the color of rippling gold. The fishermen were already out in their canoes casting their nets into the water.

The wolfhound from the night before suddenly came bounding along the beach and leaped up at Sam, almost knocking him off his feet. He laughed, tucked its paws over his shoulders and rubbed his face affectionately in its neck, crooning gently to it.

Dean watched in surprise. The dog hadn’t seemed interested in anybody but Freya the night before. “Were you secretly feeding this shaggy beast under the table last night that it suddenly thinks you’re some long lost relative or something?”

Sam clicked his fingers and the dog loped alongside them, happily wagging its tail. “I’m good with animals. You know that.” He paused when they got to the timber lodges along the shore and looked apprehensive.

“You okay?” Dean asked, watching him closely.

Sam smiled and said, “Sure, I’m fine,” before leading the way up the steps cut into the bank that led up to the village.

Dean watched him speculatively before following. 


	4. Chapter 4

The dining lodge was full of the noise and bustle of families having breakfast and starting their day together. Freya was sitting at a table crowded with other people and raised her hand in greeting when she saw them come in. Dean felt Sam pause and stiffen next to him. Glancing at him, he noticed his face had gone really pale.

“What’s wrong? You alright?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so. It’s the smell of the food. It’s making me feel sick after all that alcohol last night.”

“Do you still want to eat?”

Sam nodded. “I probably should. It might make me feel better.”

They took a seat at one of the long tables and somebody passed them bowls of oatmeal and a plate of bread, cheese and cold meat.

Sam started to eat. Despite what he’d said about feeling sick, he managed to wolf down his oatmeal in a few quick mouthfuls. He pushed away the empty bowl and made himself a sandwich of meat and cheese, took a bite and made a groaning sound of pleasure as if he hadn’t eaten anything that good in a really long time. Dean looked at him in surprise. Since Sam was little he would never eat meat and cheese together in the same sandwich. A sandwich was either a cheese sandwich or a meat sandwich, but never both. It was a weird Sam-idiosyncrasy. Something he never wavered on. 

It was a small thing, but Dean had the sudden, unsettling feeling that he was looking at a stranger.

That sensation grew stronger as he continued watching Sam eat. Now that he was really looking, he could see there was something different about Sam’s posture and body language, something he’d been aware of all morning, but out there in the periphery of his consciousness, niggling faintly at him. Sam had a really specific way of holding himself, a kind of careful uprightness. He never hunched over his plate like this with his elbows splayed on the table, shoveling food into his mouth and chewing as fast as he could. Everything about him looked wrong. Sam normally ate with such careful attention.

The back of Dean’s neck started to prickle, and when Sam glanced up at him, he felt goosebumps spreading down his shoulders. Sam’s eyes were lusterless, the normally bright color completely faded. Earlier, Dean had thought it was because they’d been glowing so fiercely last night, like maybe Sam had burned himself out. Now, in combination with the weirdness of his body language, he wasn’t so sure. Sam just didn't look right.

Noticing his scrutiny, Sam stared back at him blankly. And that was weird, too, because Sam's gaze always made Dean feel like he was being really _seen_. It was why they were so in sync with each other. Sam couldn’t directly read his thoughts the way he could other people’s, but he could intuit pretty accurately what Dean was thinking and feeling just by looking at him. And it worked both ways. Often, they didn’t need words to communicate because they understood each other so well. But this person, the one who was sitting across from him right now, was looking at Dean like they didn't know each other. The hair on Dean’s arms stood up and he shivered.

“Everything alright?” Sam asked.

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.”

Sam wiped his mouth. “I’m going to talk to Freya for a while, okay? I’ll see you later if you want to go wash up or take a swim.”

“Sure, Sam.”

Dean watched him walk over to Freya’s table, struck by the strangeness of his gait, too loose and too casual. Sam didn’t walk like that. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady the thundering pace of his heart. What the hell was going on? 

“Are you going to eat that?”

A skinny kid with long, wild, white-blond hair and a grubby face had taken a seat in the chair opposite him and was eyeing the sandwich on his plate.

“What?”

“I said, are you planning on eating that sandwich? Because if you’re not going to eat it, I’d be happy to help you out.”

“Get your own,” he replied, the chaotic state of his thoughts making his tone sharper than he intended, but he didn’t apologize because he really didn’t have time to be making friends with some weird little kid.

The kid pouted and replied petulantly, “That’s very selfish. I’m a child and adults should always make sacrifices for children. Everyone knows that. You’re old and your needs are less important.”

“Is that right?” Dean asked dryly.

“I represent the future and therefore my survival is more important than yours.”

“I think it’s unlikely you’re going to starve to death if I don’t give you my sandwich. There’s plenty of food. Go ask your parents for something to eat and stop bothering me.”

Dean looked over at Sam, who was absorbed in casual, friendly conversation with Freya and Arne.

“Are you the kind of person who faints or maybe wets themselves if they get a major shock?”

Dean turned back to the kid with a frown. “Why are you still here?”

The kid wiped its nose, smearing a streak of snot across its grubby cheek. It was hard to tell if it was a boy or a girl. “Because that happens when some people get a major shock, you know. Sometimes they faint or pee themselves.”

“Do I look like the kind of person who faints or pees himself?”

The kid studied Dean’s face thoughtfully. “You look tough. But it’s the tough ones who often surprise you. Like my older brother thinks he’s really tough, right? But last year, when he went on his first hunt with the elders and they got surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves, he pooped himself. Literally. There was all this poop oozing through his pants and running down his legs when he came home.”

The kid started snorting with laughter. “I mean it was pretty funny, especially because he thinks he’s so tough. He’s so superior and he makes fun of me all the time for being a girl, but I’m so much tougher than he is. Like a few months ago, right? I was climbing up this very sheer rockface to investigate an eagle’s nest and I slipped and fell a long way down. A _really_ long way down. I would have died, but luckily I landed on a rocky ledge. Only I landed on my arm and the bone broke and pierced right through my skin. It was disgusting.”

She showed Dean the scar on her arm. “My arm’s a bit skew now because the bone didn’t grow right. You could actually see it poking out, but there wasn’t any blood. Well, not at first, anyway. Later it was gushing out all over the place. I thought I was going to faint, but I didn’t, and I didn’t even cry either.”

She grinned triumphantly at Dean and he couldn’t help smiling back. He handed her his sandwich, partly because he was feeling nauseated by her snotty face and all this talk of poop and blood and broken bones, but mostly because she obviously deserved it after that story.

She smiled and took a big bite. Talking with her mouth full, she said, “That’s not your brother, by the way.”

Dean looked at her in surprise. “What?”

In a level voice, her gaze steady and unblinking, she said, “That man sitting over there talking to Freya isn’t your brother. Well, it is and it isn’t. Your brother’s locked inside his own body with a ghost.” She wiped her mouth and looked at Dean closely. “You’re not going to poop yourself, are you? Because that would be disappointing. Your face just went very white. Maybe you should have a drink of water.”

She passed him a cup of water, but Dean ignored it. His mind flashed back to the night before when he and Sam were swimming in the lake, to the way Sam was wrenched out of his arms and pulled under the water, to the weirdness of his behavior afterwards, to the way Sam had been so rough with him when they had sex in the woods. 

Honestly, he actually was starting to feel a little faint.

The girl swallowed the last bite of the sandwich, patted her stomach in satisfaction and said, “Thanks for sharing your food with me.” Then continued conversationally, “It’s Erik’s ghost. He’s Freya’s brother. He died a long time ago when I was only four years old. His gift was very powerful. He could walk on water, literally, which is very impressive if you think about it. According to my dad, he wasn’t a bad person but having so much power is dangerous because it makes a person think they are nipotent—which means they think they’re as powerful as the gods.”

“You mean _om_nipotent,” Dean corrected and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, so say I believe this crazy story of yours—”

“It’s not a crazy story.”

Dean leaned forward. “And how do you know all of this exactly?”

“Because Sam came to me in a dream last night and told me. Dreamwalking is very difficult, you know. Freya’s grandmother could do it and she had the most powerful gift anybody around here has ever known, like _ever_. It must be scary for you, having a brother that powerful, especially as you’re just a norm. Do you worry about him going crazy and thinking he’s a god? I mean, he seems nice, but thinking you’re omni—or whatever, is dangerous, unless you have enough humility to deal with it."

She smeared another streak of snot across her face and continued chattily, "My dad says humility is a really important gift, almost as important as courage and resilience in the face of adversity, which are the most important gifts because being scared is an inevitable part of life, but it's important to know that fear doesn’t define who you are or determine what you do because-"

“Why did Sam come to you?” Dean cut in impatiently.

The girl pushed her wild blonde hair away from her face, leaving breadcrumbs in errant strands that stood up in a frizzy halo around her head. “Oh, it’s because I can see through the veil. It’s not much of a gift, really, if you think about it. It used to scare me senseless when I was very little."

Dean raised his eyebrows questioningly. "The veil?"

"I can see people who get trapped here after they’ve died," she explained. "They can’t move on because they feel like they still have to do something or say something to somebody, or sometimes their spirits are tethered here by a loved one. It’s really sad, if you think about it. Actually, I try not to think about them, and I don’t go into the forest if I can help it because it’s full of wanderers. Seriously, there are so many of them and they’re so sad and lonely. Some of them are very angry, and that's a lot worse. I wish I couldn’t see them, but my dad says you can't control what you're born with. You just have to deal with what you get.”

A word she’d used struck a chord in Dean’s memory. Something Sam had said to him earlier about Erik’s spirit being tethered here because Freya kept some of his hair in locket around her neck. “What do you mean they get tethered here?”

“They can be bound to a person or a place if something important is left behind, some object they loved or like a physical part of them, which is why burying people in the ground is really stupid. Fire is the only way to cut the link between the body and spirit. ”

“A physical part? You mean like bone or hair?”

“Sure, if Freya has something like that of Erik’s, it could tether him here. My dad says she loved him too much. I'm not sure if that's actually possible, to love somebody too much, but that's what my dad says."

She stood up and patted the crumbs off her lap. "Anyway, I have to clear up and wash dishes with the others. It’s our turn today and we get into trouble if we don’t do our chores, which is fair. My dad says it’s important to serve others with an open and generous heart."

She gave Dean a big smile. "Good luck, Dean. I hope you manage to free your brother. I know I’d want to rescue my brother if he was possessed by a ghost, even though he’s really irritating. Sam seems like a good person, not irritating or superior at all, so I hope he doesn’t turn out like Erik. My dad says Erik was reckless and irresponsible. He says Freya is much happier without him and a better village leader than he ever was. But I don’t think it’s like that for you and Sam. I could tell from my dream that he loves you and wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

She smiled at him and gave him a little wave. “See you later.”

Dean watched her walk away, amused and bemused, in equal measure, by Sam’s quirky choice of messenger. His smile faded when he looked over at Sam, who was not Sam.

His gut started churning. He should’ve figured it out earlier. The signs were all there. How could he have been so blind? From across the room, he watched Sam smile at Freya. It was such an intensely familiar expression that it made his breath catch. Freya leaned back in her chair and laughed at something he was saying. Dean saw the chain around her neck and the locket hanging just above the neckline of her dress.

Stealing the locket wouldn't be hard. He'd always had nimble fingers and a talent for distracting people’s attention from what he didn’t want them to see. Sleight of hand was a useful trick he’d learned when he was a kid, but he felt guilty at the idea of taking something from her that she valued so much. 

He stood up, took a deep breath and prepared himself. 

It happened exactly the way he rehearsed it in his mind. He went over to their table and pretended to stumble over the wolfhound sprawled on the floor, fell forward and knocked a full cup of scalding hot tea into Freya’s lap. In the ensuing chaos of the dog yelping, Freya crying out in pain and everybody leaping to their feet, he managed to undo her necklace and slip it into his pocket.

Afterwards, he clumsily patted her tea-soaked dress with his shirtsleeve and faked embarrassed apology. She reassured him and accepted his apology with a bright smile, even though she was clearly hurting, which added to his feelings of guilt. Eventually, she excused herself and left the room to change her clothes, accompanied by Arne.

They watched her leave, then turned to face each other. It was the strangest feeling, looking at him and knowing it wasn’t Sam looking back at him.

“Nicely done, Dean. You’re a natural thief.” 

Dean clenched his jaw. “I didn’t think you’d give up playing the game so quickly, Erik.”

“It’s not a game.”

“You’re damn right it’s not game, you son of a bitch,” Dean hissed fiercely.

They started getting curious looks from the people around them. Erik said quietly, “Let’s go outside. This is not the place.”

As soon as they got outside, Dean turned on him. "I've got what I need to get you out of my brother’s body. Don’t think you’re going to stop me.”

Erik sighed. “I wasn’t planning on stopping you. Why do you think I told you about the locket.”

“Then what the hell was the point in possessing Sam in the first place? Were you so curious about what it felt like to fuck somebody’s brother? Wasn’t it enough for you to fuck your own sister.”

Grimacing, Erik bit out, “You’re angry. And you should be, obviously. But it was never like that between me and Freya, and that’s not what it’s like between you and Sam." He grimaced again and his voice went quieter. "What I did last night was a mistake. I was drunk with Sam’s feelings for you. I hadn’t felt anything for so long and I just lost myself in him. It’s not an excuse, and I can’t apologize for it, so I’m not going to. I want to be free, Dean. I’m ready to move on. For years, I was out there in the lake, drowning. I was in hell.”

“Excuse me while I don’t give a shit about your pain when you’re possessing my brother’s body.”

Erik’s lips twisted in a wry half-smile. “I deserve that. And I know I have no right to ask for anything, but I need time. There are things I need to say to Freya. You can have your brother back. I won’t fight you. I just need time with her. We had a fight the night I died and I said things to her I never should have said. Please, Dean. You know what it’s like to love somebody so desperately.”

Feeling conflicted, Dean went over to the wooden railing of the porch and looked out at the lake.

Erik came up and stood next to him. “I couldn’t get rid of Arne in there so I could talk to her.” He gripped the railing, his knuckles turning white. “He hasn’t changed at all. He’s so unworthy of her fierce spirit.”

Dean turned to look at him. “That’s not your choice.”

“No, it isn’t. It's her choice and I accept that. I don’t want to hurt her. But she needs to hear what I’ve got to say as much as I need to say it. She hasn’t moved on. She carries that locket close to her heart because she carries me around with her. Time alone with her, that’s all I’m asking. You’d want that if you were in my place, to say goodbye to Sam, to put things right. Please, have some compassion.”

Dean was still so angry, but he could feel himself yielding.

Erik could obviously read it in his expression and pressed his point home. “If you have Freya’s best interests at heart, trust me, she needs to hear what I’ve got to say.”

Eventually, Dean said through clenched teeth, “I’m not doing it for you.”

Erik sighed in relief. “Thank you, Dean. You’re a good man.”

“Fuck you,” Dean gritted out as they walked down to the beach, partly to Erik, partly to himself for giving in to him.

They walked in silence towards the lodge where Freya lived and saw her walking along the shoreline, coming toward them, her pace quick and angry, hand at her throat where the necklace should’ve been.

Erik smiled and said, “She’s really angry.”

He turned to Dean and put a hand on his arm. “Dean, you should know something about your brother. Sam's haunted by a monster. I've seen awful things in my dreams, but nothing like what follows Sam in his dreamworld. It’s terrifying. I’m telling you this because he won’t. He’s ashamed because he thinks it’s a part of him, that it’s connected to his power. He thinks he’s strong enough to deal with it on his own. He isn't. Trying to cope alone with the particular kind of gift Sam and I have is not a good idea. I just think you should know.”

Before Dean could answer, Erik squeezed his arm and smiled. “Thank you for letting me have this time with Freya. You're a good man.”

Dean watched him walk up the beach. When he met Freya, she started talking quickly, her hand gestures angry, pointing at Dean. Dean was too far away to hear what Erik said in response, but he could see the growing turmoil in her expressions as Erik talked, could see the way her emotions were changing from bewilderment, to shock, to hurt, and finally to anger.

Dean flinched when she hit Erik in the chest, both hands, really hard. Erik staggered back, then surged forward and pulled her close against him, arms wrapped around her. They stood like that, desperately holding onto each other, until he pushed his fingers deep into her hair and angled her head so he could kiss her.

Dean couldn’t watch anymore. What was happening between them was too intense, too private for an audience. He went over and sat down near the remnants of a bonfire on the beach from the night before. He could feel the heat still coming off the blackened logs. Placing a little pile of twigs on one of the logs, he blew on them until they caught alight, then took the necklace out of his pocket and opened the locket. The faded yellow hair was nestled inside it.

He waited, then looked over his shoulder. Freya was walking away, her head lowered, not looking back. Erik was watching her. He turned and faced Dean, raised his hand, a resigned half-smile on his face. Dean nodded at him, feeling strangely reluctant, like he was about to do something irrevocable. And it did feel like a very final thing when he threw the lock of hair into the flames and watched it catch alight and burn away into nothing.

He sat looking at the dying fire and waited until he heard the sound of Sam’s familiar footfall behind him. Turning around, he looked into Sam's bright and familiar eyes. “Hey, brother," he said softly. "You alright?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied and sat down next to him.

“And Freya?”

“She’s strong. You did the right thing, Dean, giving him the chance to talk to her. They needed to do that. Both of them.”

Dean sighed and put the necklace back in his pocket.

“Is it wrong that I can’t hate him?” Sam asked.

“No.”

“I feel violated, though, you know?”

“If he was here, in his own body, I’d take a swing at him. A couple of good punches would make me feel a whole lot better.”

His voice quiet, Sam asked, “So you didn’t know it wasn’t me?”

Dean heard the underlying hint of accusation. “A part of me knew, but it was only over breakfast that I really started to figure it out. And then that weird little girl gave me your message.”

“And when he was…” Sam trailed off and just stared pensively out at the lake.

Dean turned to face him. “How was I supposed to know, Sam? It felt wrong, all of it, but it’s not like I’ve ever come across anything like this before, or that I even knew it was possible for a ghost to possess somebody. We were drunk and everything felt so strange and surreal anyway.”

Sam’s voice was very small and quiet when he asked, “Did you like it? What he did to you? Because it seemed like maybe you did.”

Dean could feel anger bubbling up inside him because that really wasn’t fair. He pushed it down. “Can you look at me.”

Sam met his gaze and Dean could see the hurt in his expression. “I got off, twice, and that’s never happened to me before.” Sam’s jaw tightened and he tried to turn away, but Dean gripped his shoulders. “But that was just my body responding to what he was doing to me. It didn’t feel right, not while he was fucking me, and definitely not afterwards, because being with you never makes me feel bad. Never. And that’s how I felt afterwards. I had this empty, really bad feeling inside me.”

Sam’s face twisted and his eyes reddened. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It's unfair. Just stupid jealousy, which is pathetic.”

Dean pulled him close and hugged him. “It’s okay.” He kissed Sam’s forehead. “I get it.”

Sam reached up and cupped Dean's face, then kissed him, his lips soft and tentative. He made a quiet sound in his throat and shifted closer, licking at Dean's lips, his tongue warm and insistent. “I want to touch you,” he whispered. “I want to know it’s me touching you and not him.”

Dean pulled back and said warily, “Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

Sam’s eyes were wide and vulnerable. “Why? Don’t you want me?”

Dean took Sam's hand and put it between his legs. “I’m hard. That’s what kissing you does to me.”

Sam stroked him through his pants. “I feel like-I just-I want to erase the feeling of him inside me, inside you.”

“Maybe we should wait,” Dean said uncertainly, trying to process his thoughts. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Sam. He did. And maybe Sam was right, having sex might exorcise the lingering traces of Erik’s presence, but what if it didn’t? What they had together, especially this part of their relationship, felt too fragile to risk damaging through carelessness. The private, intimate center of their world, a place that held just the two of them, had been invaded. And sure, Erik understood what it was like to love somebody in this way - in these two very different ways that should negate each other, opposing feelings that most other people found abhorrent - but that didn't make Dean feel any better. He couldn’t shake the sense that Erik had tainted what they had. 

Sam frowned. “If you don’t want to, then just say so, Dean.”

Dean stroked Sam's cheek, then ran a gentle finger along his lower lip. “Of course I want to. I always want to. But maybe we should go slower. What happened last night isn’t something we can just shrug off.” 

Sam stared at him intently. “I’m not shrugging it off. But I don’t think we should wait. It’ll just build and grow into something we’re scared of, something we avoid. You know that. We shouldn’t let what he did ruin everything for us and make us go back to how things were before when we pretended this wasn't how we felt about each other. I want to be naked with you. I want to touch you and make you feel good.” Sam stroked him again through his pants, outlining the shape of Dean’s dick as it hardened. “You love me and you trust me. That wasn’t me last night. This is me.”

Sam’s hand on him felt good and Dean’s body was responding in the way that it always did. Maybe Sam was right, avoiding things and letting them fester in the dark always caused trouble. Head-on was the only strategy that worked for them. He let his legs fall open. “I like the way you touch me.”

Sam smiled and gave him a quick squeeze before standing up. “Let’s do this in a bed. We should leave tomorrow and who knows when we'll be able to do it in a bed again.”

Dean nodded. He stood up and ruffled Sam’s hair affectionately. They walked along the beach back to the village, Dean’s arm slung over Sam’s shoulders in a way that was companionable and brotherly, except for when he dropped his hand and fondled Sam’s ass.

It was quiet in the lodge where they’d been given a room. Everybody was out working or doing chores. Dean locked the door behind him and stripped off his shirt, then did the same to Sam. He pulled him close and nuzzled his neck. “I love the way you smell.”

“You know I haven’t washed since yesterday, right? I probably stink.”

Dean lifted Sam's arm, took a deep sniff of his armpit, then stepped back and parodied a choking fit. “Wow, you’re right. You smell pretty ripe.”

Sam punched him lightly on the arm. “Shut up, you don’t smell so great yourself.”

"I don’t know why you’ve never understood the importance of personal hygiene," Dean said with a smirk. "I tried my best to teach you when you were little, but you’ve always been so stubborn and lazy.” He dug his fingers into Sam’s side and tickled him, something he used to do to Sam all the time when they were kids.

Sam laughed and batted at Dean's hands as he tried to escape. “You’ve got it the wrong way around. We both know you started smelling like a hairy old goat when you turned fourteen. At least I—”

Grabbing him around the waist, Dean collapsed with him on the bed, then straddled him and pinned his arms above his head. “I’m just going to have to clean you myself. It's my duty as your older brother." Leaning forward, he licked Sam’s armpit, tasting the salty familiarity of him, then wiggled his tongue deep into the hair and sucked. 

“Dean, that's disgusting!” Sam squirmed and laughed until he was breathless. “There’s something very wrong with you,” he said when Dean lifted his head.

“Sure, Sam, because, you know, licking armpits is obviously the weirdest thing about my life. I mean the fact that I’m about to fuck my brother isn’t weird at all.”

“Are you?” Sam asked, his voice going hot and rough.

Dean swallowed. “What?”

“Are you going to fuck me?”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Dean answered quietly.

“Good,” Sam said in that same low voice. “Sit up so I can take off my pants.”

Dean sat back and watched Sam strip off his pants, watched him lie back against the pillows and open his knees, putting himself on display as a blush stained his cheekbones. Dean looked down and took a ragged breath. Sam was getting hard, his balls tightening. His hole was pink and puckered and so inviting.

Leaning forward, Dean gently pushed his knees up until Sam's thighs were open and pressed against his chest. “Hold yourself open like that.”

Sam’s breathing went heavy, his eyes hooded. He gripped his knees and lay back, eyes closing. Dean lowered his head and licked a long slow lick up his cock, feeling it twitch against his tongue. He moved lower, lay flat on his stomach and licked Sam's balls, then the strip of skin behind them, then his hole.

“Dean, you don’t need to do that.”

“I want to,” he said and pushed his tongue into Sam’s body. Sam made a breathy sound that turned into a moan as Dean started working him with his tongue, circling the rim, then pushing deeper, tasting him. He slipped his finger in when it was wet enough. Sam gasped and fisted the sheet.

Dean was so turned on that he thrust hard against the mattress. The sounds Sam was making were driving him a little crazy. This was all going to be over way too quickly if they weren't careful. He sat up and smiled when he saw Sam’s wildly tousled hair standing up in all directions and his deeply flushed cheeks. Sam returned the smile, ran his hand down his chest and stroked himself.

“Let me do that for you. Just give me a second to find the oil."

"Hurry up," Sam replied with a lazy smile and carried on stroking himself.

Dean got up to find the bottle of oil in his shirt pocket, refusing to allow images from last night to ruin how good he was feeling. He stripped off his pants, got back on the bed and kneeled between Sam’s legs. He slathered oil on his fingers and opened Sam gently, first with one finger, then two, while Sam watched him with dark, heavy-lidded eyes, no glow of power there, just hot, naked desire. The flush on his face spread down his chest and his dick was hard and leaking against his belly.

Keeping his fingers inside him, Dean leaned forward and suckled the head of his dick, licking the sticky fluid leaking from the slit. Sam rubbed the back of his head, then clenched his shoulder in a tight-fingered grip when Dean slid his mouth down the hard length of him. “Don't. I’m already too close, Dean.”

Dean sat up, got his legs straightened under Sam’s and pulled him onto his lap, arms around him. “Is this okay? Like this?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied breathlessly, shifting forward, his knees either side of Dean’s hips, fingers tight on his biceps. He lifted slightly and they watched as he lowered himself slowly onto Dean’s dick until he was fully seated on his lap.

Dean realized he was biting his lip when he tasted the tang of copper in his mouth. Looking up, he saw Sam’s eyes had closed. There was a small frown etched between his eyebrows, his mouth was open and his breath was coming quickly. “Does it hurt too much? Do you want to stop?” he whispered

Sam opened his eyes. “No, it feels good. You’re so deep inside me.” His mouth dropped open and he moaned softly when Dean rocked up, getting even deeper. Dean did it again, holding Sam hard against his chest, taking his mouth in a deep, wet kiss. They started moving together, breathing against each other's mouths, sweating, thrusting harder and faster. 

Sam arched his back and groaned. “I’m-I can't-I’m going to come.” Dean rocked up again and a full body shiver ran through Sam. It nearly tipped Dean over the edge. He held Sam tightly in his arms and waited it out for a second, biting his lip to maintain control, then leaned back so he could get a hand on Sam's dick. It took only two strokes before Sam was coming all over his fist, his expression rapturous.

Dean surged forward on top of him, his hips jerking as he thrust deep into Sam's body and got washed away in a wave of intense pleasure, feeling Sam's legs wrap around his waist to hold him tight as he came with a muffled groan into Sam's shoulder.

Completely spent, he lay collapsed like that, face tucked into Sam's neck, his dick still inside him, still a little hard despite the intensity of his orgasm. He was exhausted and felt like he could just fall into a deep sleep lying like this on top of Sam. Sam shifted uncomfortably and said, “You’re getting heavy.”

“Sorry.” He lifted up and eased himself slowly out of Sam's body, frowning when he saw Sam grimace. "Sorry,” he said again and stroked Sam's chest. “Are you okay?”

Sam blew out a long, slow breath, then smiled lazily. “I’m really great.”

Dean huffed a laugh at his obvious, glowing contentment, then lay down, his head next to Sam’s on the pillow.

“That was so good.”

“Mmm,” Dean agreed, pulling him close so Sam's face was pressed into his neck. Sam took a deep sniff of his skin, then pressed a kiss to his throat. Dean kissed the top of his head. "Admit it, you love that I smell like a hairy old goat."

Sam laughed quietly and bit his earlobe. "Love everything about you," he whispered, then in a teasing voice started saying, "Except when you-" Dean shut him up by kissing him thoroughly, tongue deep in his mouth.

Sam eventually pulled away from the kiss. "Tired," he mumbled as he rolled over on to his side. Dean tucked him into the curve of his body and breathed in the familiar herbal smell of his hair.

They slept like that for a few hours, exhausted after everything they’d been through, then woke up hungry for each other again. Dean sucked Sam slowly, pulling off and keeping him on edge until Sam was fisting the bedclothes and cursing him. Sam came in Dean's mouth. When he'd caught his breath, he jerked Dean off, quick and hard, kissing him deeply and tasting his own come on Dean’s tongue. 

And the whole time this mantra was playing in Dean's mind. "Mine. You're mine." 

Afterwards, they cleaned up, tidied the room and packed their bags before making their way up to the main lodge, hungry for something to eat.

Freya was waiting for them. Her skin was pale and there were shadows under her eyes. She took Sam’s hand gently in hers. “I’m so sorry, Sam. Erik had no right to possess you like that.”

“It’s not your fault. You’re not responsible for him,” Sam reassured her. “I’m alright, and Freya, despite the way that it happened, I’m glad you got the chance to say goodbye to him. You deserve that.”

Dean watched Freya hug Sam, doubting that she knew everything that had happened. And she didn't need to know because Erik was gone. Dean felt sympathy for her. Loving somebody like Erik couldn’t have been easy and she was obviously better off without him, despite how much it hurt. 

Freya let go of Sam and said, “Come with me. I’d like to do something for the two of you.”

They followed her along a path behind the main timber lodges to a small wooden building covered in carvings of animals, trees, birds and flowers, and the repeated motif of the wolf that was tattooed on every villager’s shoulder. Freya led them up a small flight of wooden stairs and into the building.

It was hot inside, the heat coming from a huge fire roaring in the stone fireplace. There were two wooden tables with mattresses on them and another table covered in metal tubes and bowls of colored liquid.

“This is Harald and his brother Bjorn. I believe you know Hilda.”

The wild-haired girl from this morning got up from where she was sitting on the hearth patting Freya’s wolfhound and grinned cheerfully. “Hello, Sam. I knew you’d find your way back.”

“Thanks for your help,” Sam said and patted her head.

“Sure,” she replied and patted his stomach, which made Sam laugh.

The two brothers were stripped to the waist, muscled and heavily tattooed. Dean recognized the one with the hawk tattooed across his chest from last night when they’d been drinking with Freya, the one who had been checking Sam out. The other brother was bigger, burlier with a bear tattooed on his chest.

“Why are we here?” Sam asked.

Hilda took a piece of paper out of her dress pocket and showed them a design. It was a five-pointed star inside what looked like a burning sun. “It’s an anti-possession symbol. Harald and Bjorn are going to tattoo it on your chests.”

“Uh, really?” Dean said and raised his eyebrows sceptically.

“It will keep you safe. Trust me, I’ve got a feeling you’re going to need the protection of the symbol. Anyway, you’re not scared of a little pain, are you, Dean?” Hilda asked with a cheeky little smirk.

The brothers laughed and Dean grumbled under his breath.

“You can trust Hilda,” Freya said reassuringly. “She knows things, and despite her age, she has great wisdom. Her father is a powerful healer.”

“Okay,” Sam said. He looked at Dean. “I don’t ever want to feel out of control like that again.”

Dean nodded and stripped off his shirt. “Then let’s do it.”

Sam nodded and pulled off his shirt. When Harald looked at Sam's bare chest admiringly, Dean said, “You’re doing me. Your brother can do Sam.”

Harald grinned and shrugged.

They lay down on the two tables. Harald showed Dean the brass, hollowed-out tube, inside it was a smaller, thinner metal rod tipped with a wickedly sharp point. “It’s going to hurt,” he said with a smile. “I can give you something to bite into it, if you need it, for the pain.”

“Just do it already.”

Harald dipped the point into a bowl of ink before carefully placing the tube on the left side of Dean’s chest, then firmly pressed down on the tube, piercing Dean’s skin with the sharp-pointed rod. It hurt like fuck. Dean gritted his teeth and turned his head to look at Sam, who smiled at him as the other brother worked on his tattoo. Sam had an incredibly high threshold for pain.

Hilda and Freya sat near the fire, Hilda regaling her with long, convoluted stories about her many exploits, making Freya laugh, and distracting Dean from the incessant pain of the needle piercing his skin over and over again, like he was being stung by a swarm of angry hornets.

“We're done.” Harald eventually said. “I admire the strength in both of you. Most men find it harder to endure the pain the first time they are marked.”

Freya smiled at them when they sat up. “Women tend to tolerate the pain better. I’ve seen grown men pass out in this room.”

Hilda nodded sagely. “Boys are not a strong as they think they are.” 

“Let’s go and have dinner together," Freya invited. "I assume you’ll be leaving in the morning. I’ve asked for a feast to be prepared in celebration of your last night with us.”

Later, as they sat at one of the long tables in the main lodge, the table groaning with the weight of food on it, Dean’s mind turned to thoughts of his father, thoughts of the monster that killed his mother and tormented Sam in his dreams. He felt afraid of what the future held for them, but knew that fear would always be an integral part of this life. Being afraid wouldn’t stop them. As long as they were together they could meet whatever was thrown at them with courage and resilience, because - as Hilda's father liked to say - being afraid doesn’t determine who you are and what you do.

THE END


End file.
